I think that God, in creating man, somewhat overestimated his ability.

In all pointed sentences some degree of accuracy must be sacrificed to conciseness.

The play was a great success but the audience was a disaster.

The only thing to do with good advice is to pass it on. It is never of any use to oneself.

Foxhunting the unspeakable pursuing the inedible.

The only thing to do with good advice is to pass it on. It is never of any use to oneself.

No woman should ever be quite accurate about her age. It looks so calculating.

Art is the most intense mode of invidualism that the world has known.

All that I desire to point out is the general principle that life imitates art far more than art imitates life.

No great artist ever sees things as they really are. If he did, he would cease to be an artist.

Nowadays, all the married men live like bachelors, and all the bachelors like married men.

The wild Bee reels from bough to bough With his furry coat and his gauzy wing, Now in a lily cup, and now Setting a jacinth bell a-swing, In his wandering.

Man can believe the impossible, but can never believe the improbable.

Children begin by loving their parents. After a time they judge them. Rarely, if ever, do they forgive them.

The best way to make children good is to make them happy.

A man cannot be too careful in the choice of his enemies.

Always forgive your enemies - nothing annoys them so much.

And thus we rust Life's iron chain Degraded and alone: And some men curse, and some men weep, And some men make no moan: But God's eternal Laws are kind And break the heart of stone. And every human heart that breaks, In prison-cell or yard, Is as that broken box that gave Its treasure to the Lord, And filled the unclean leper's house With the scent of costliest nard. Ah! happy they whose hearts can break And peace of pardon win! How else may man make straight his plan And cleanse his soul from sin? How else but through a broken heart May Lord Christ enter in?

Feast of Thomas Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, Martyr, 1170 Come down, O Christ, and help me! reach Thy hand For I am drowning in a stormier sea Than Simon on the the lake of Galilee: The wine of life is spilt upon the sand, My heart is as some famine-murdered land Whence all good things have perished utterly, And well I know my soul in Hell must lie If I this night before God's throne must stand. "He sleeps perchance, or rideth to the chase, Like Baal, when his prophets holed that name From morn to noon on Carmel's smitten height." Nay, peace! I shall behold, before the night, The feet of brass, the robe more white than flame, The wounded hands, the weary human face.

Life is far too important a thing ever to talk about. -Oscar Wilde.